Of Things Unsaid
by Le Masque31
Summary: '"What happened to you ..." he began, but then he faltered and his eyes involuntarily strayed to the stump resting on his thigh.' Maedhros' torment upon Thangorodrim left more than one of them scarred. Long-buried guilt resurfaces when Maglor apologizes to his brother. One-shot.


**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

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><p>"I'm sorry," Maglor murmured into the silence. His voice seemed small to his own ears, almost inaudible beside the merry crackle of the fire in the hearth. For a moment it seemed that Maedhros had not heard him; that he would not reply. For a moment Maglor held his breath, quivering on the edge of a knife, poised between the words clawing up his throat—those terrible, painful words he had not said—and the fear fluttering like a mad little heart in his chest.<p>

But then Maedhros' head snapped toward his brother, and he spoke as one awoken from deep sleep: "What?"

The flames leaped in ludic detachment, but the rest of the cramped room was as still as Maglor, waiting, waiting—but for what Maglor did not dare think. He inhaled through his nose even as emotion swamped him, even as feelings were enmeshed together until individual threads became indiscernible. His teeth found his lower lip, worrying at it in unconscious tics, as he finally, finally glanced toward his brother.

Firelight shivered on his face and skidded over his hair, touching the russet strands to shades of deep crimson, liquid-like in the partial gloom of the chamber. As Maedhros tipped his head to squint in puzzlement at his brother, his hair spilled over his shoulders like a slick of blood, and suddenly Maglor looked away.

"Are you okay?" Maedhros queried, leaning over the side of his chair to better see his brother, and Maglor hated the concern in his voice (_I do not deserve it_).

He waved an airy hand, shifting further away from Maedhros, but he was powerless to contain the sob that bubbled in his throat. He heard, as though from a great distance, the scrape of the armchair across the wooden floor, the rustle of fabric as Maedhros stood up. He clamped a trembling hand onto his mouth, but the effort was vain; tears spilled freely from his eyes, and such a broken wailing issued from behind his fingers that a detached, seemingly alien part of him feared that Elrond and Elros might wake up.

"Hey," Maedhros whispered softly, kneeling before his brother, caressing his shoulder with gentle fingers to coax him into an embrace. "Hey, Káno, what's wrong?"

Maglor shook his head, but at a slightly more insistent tug from Maedhros, he crumbled against his brother's chest. Maedhros rocked back at the impact, but Maglor held fast onto him, fingers clutching at his tunic as his tears soaked through its fabric, a silent testament to suffering, to guilt.

Maedhros' arms came up to encircle Maglor's quaking body, sliding round his waist and drawing him closer. "It's all right, Káno," he assured his brother, and at his words a glede of gratefulness was set alight in Maglor's chest. Maedhros, after everything that had been done to him, nonetheless slipped right back into the role of eldest brother, a role Maglor had been glad of ever since their childhood in Eldamar.

Yet guilt poisoned such tender feelings. Its cancerous growth choked him, and he pressed closer still to Maedhros, as though simply feeling his chest expand with each inhalation (_he is here, he is alive_) would keep it at bay.

Cool fingers grazed his cheek and strayed upward into his hair to tuck the disheveled locks behind his ear. Maedhros pulled back slightly from the embrace to properly look at his brother, and his fingers tipped Maglor's head upward.

"There," Maedhros breathed, thumb stroking over Maglor's cheekbone to wipe away his tears. "Will you tell me what happened now?"

The encouraging smile curving over his brother's lips bolstered Maglor, and slowly he molded the fragile purpose in his mind into coherent thoughts.

"What happened to you …" he began, but then he faltered and his eyes involuntarily strayed to the stump resting on his thigh. He coughed and reached out an apologetic hand to grasp his brother's ruined arm. "What happened before … It was my fault."

Maedhros' brow creased in befuddlement and he opened his mouth to speak, but Maglor tapped a finger against his lips. He rallied whatever dregs of certainty still swirled within him, and continued: "I was regent in your stead. The decision was mine. But I did nothing."

Maglor's breath hitched in his throat and he paused, tightening his hold on Maedhros' arm. "And for that I am sorry."

A cloud of sorrow, of some unspoken horror, darkened Maedhros' face at the mention of his torment; yet its passage was but fleeting. "Ever you were loath to share your thoughts with others when we were children. It seems that has not changed." Pity shone in his eyes as he gazed at Maglor, but sincerity blazed there as well, weaving through that strange, gossamer sadness in gut-wrenching poignancy, and but for the fingers curled round his chin Maglor would have averted his glance. "I have never blamed you, Káno, and, please, do not blame yourself. It was a decision made for our people, and it showed wisdom, and strength."

"But—" His thoughts lay in a muddled heap, with confusion, with hurt (_I do not deserve this_) spearing through them until their edges were torn and jagged. And he could not understand, even though, try as he might, he could distinguish no trace of mockery, of spite in his brother's features, and he had imagined this, over and over again, but never, never like this …

"I understand, Káno," Maedhros interposed, damming the torrent of emotion gushing through Maglor; yet his voice remained low and soothing. "I understand."

Maglor did not reply; he did not know what to say, how to feel. Slowly, ever so slowly, the room toppled back into his awareness, and it was just how he had left it. It seemed odd, discordant, that nothing had changed when so clearly _everything_ had, but the thought weighed heavy on his mind, and he could feel the throb of a headache in his temples.

So he settled for a tentative, watery smile instead, and Maedhros returned it with warmth, setting relief unfurling within him and trickling like a balm through limbs and heart alike.

"It is getting late," Maedhros declared after a moment of silence, and Maglor nodded, because suddenly he felt weariness encumbering his bones, coursing in leaden rills where tension had been but a minute ago.

Maglor stood from his armchair, and his brother stood with him. His fingers brushed Maedhros', and even as his brother made to step away, he latched onto them, squeezing his hand in gratitude, in assurance—he would be there from now on, he would stand by his brother.

"Night, Nelyo," he slurred with a smile, but did not let go just yet. The moment seemed to congeal around them, and there was understanding in the glance they shared; there was the simple, unquestioning affection of kin.

Then Maglor disentangled their fingers, and turned away from Maedhros, tottering toward the bedroom they both shared. But Maedhros stayed there a while longer, watching over his brother as he stumbled across the room, rolling divers things in the folds of his mind until the fire dwindled to ashes.


End file.
